The Wrong Room

“Well, it looks like you’ve got a disabled room, sir.” The man behind the hotel reception desk in Nottingham gave a weak smile, and I could only imagine the internal jokes that were racing through his mind. “You don’t look disabled…”

Strangely, I was busy taking this as a compliment when, suddenly, his face brightened. ” Ah ha! Looks like we’ve had a cancellation on the top floor. That’s good news for you, sir, the disabled rooms aren’t good for normal users, and you would have had the worst one of the lot too, just by the main road and the reception area. Rubbish rooms, really. So, I’ll put you on the top floor. Hold on a sec.”
I held on. I was pleased at my room upgrade – they way he was talking about it, I had avoided an awful stay in a rubbish room.
And then… and then. The receptionist’s face slowly changed from pleasure to marked pain.
“Ummm…,” he uttered.
“Hmmm…,” he continued, looking increasingly red. “I may have made a mistake. The hotel’s fully booked. Other than, of course, that disabled room…”

And so it was that I started my stay in the very same room the receptionist had slagged off only seconds before. It turns out its not so bad at all – sure, the switches are low enough for leprechuans to have to stoop down for, and doors that you could fit a large fridge-freezer through. However, the bright side is that I have special pulleys at the side of the bed AND bath that can yank whenever I need anything.

Hmmm, I *am* feeling a bit peckish…